A Storm of Blades
by simsf
Summary: Tamriel is being ravaged with the shadows of war. Skyrim is gathering its houses and marching on Cyrodiil. The Blades are dead. Ancient horrors lurk in the gloom, and no dragonborn is found. But the north is stirring, and Skyrim is reuniting itself. A storm of blades is gathering, and hope is rekindling. But not all is as it seems... [First book in the Stormblade Saga.]
1. Odysseus

[Solitude, one year after Tullius surrendered to Rahvin Stormcloak, 8th of Hearthfire]

Castle Dour was especially gloomy this day. Tullius, after having every last nearby man of his killed (Save for Rikke, but she was a woman, not a man, and Stormblade) one year ago on the 8th of Hearthfire, realized that he was defeated and agreed to pull all of his remaining men out of Skyrim for good in twelve months.

Rikke stared at Stormblade (his first name was Justin, but he was the last of his family so he called himself by his last name) with a burning passion in her eyes. "You're really just going to quit? After all of that? This is extremely unlike you, Stormblade. Tullius _needs_ you. Both of us. We're his last two Legates!" she said. "_You _are his last Legate, Rikke. Not me. I told you, I quit, and I'm going to High Rock," replied Stormblade. "What, the country of those half-breed Bretons? You can't be serious, Stormblade!" she hissed. Stormblade just shook his head and said, "Goodbye, Rikke."

Once again, she glared at him. But she relented and waved slowly, looking down. "Goodbye, Stormblade." Stormblade put away his uniform for the last time and grabbed his light old leathern armor. He looked around at the two other men speaking quietly and remembering their good times in the place. Most of the men, after all, had been born here. They watched him as he exited the room, and returned to their conversation.

Stormblade put his supplies on his steed, Charlie, and mounted. As he rode away, he realized that he may never see Rikke or Tullius or even Skyrim again. He rode slowly, taking in every last second of his last ride through his home.

[High Rock, eight months later]

Charlie stopped as Stormblade commanded, and allowed his owner to hop off and lead him to the stream near Wayrest. They began to drink gratefully and only stopped when they were content and relieved from the Summer Sun. They looked in the direction of Wayrest, which was about a quarter mile away. It seemed pretty peaceful, save for the sounds of the shoppers and civilians bustling about. And for the dragon.

Stormblade's whole body tensed. "A dragon," he said in a hushed voice. But this dragon was… different. It had two skinny necks leading to round heads that shot fire. And the most disturbing part was the rider. He called out in amusement, which could barely be heard to Stormblade, who had jumped on his horse and begun riding madly toward the chaos. He took out his bow and aimed at the dragon. But then he shifted his aim to the rider. An eighth of a mile, a tenth, until he was a hundred feet away. He let the arrow go flying. But the dragon shifted and the arrow missed, and the man glared at the interloper. Stormblade shot an arrow into the dragon's wing, and it shrieked in pain. Or rather, one head did while the other hid itself and cried. It landed, causing the man to fall off. He stared at Stormblade with hatred, and approached. Stormblade jumped off his horse and drew his blade.

"How _**dare**_ you, you insolent little-…" said the man, whose appearance could now be made out. His face was red with rage, and his hair was black as Alduin's scales. He stood at about six feet and seven inches from Stormblade's guess, and he wore steel armor with brown eyes. However, the red in his face faded away and he laughed. "Forgive me, my good man, but I'm not used to anyone having the guts to attack me. I am Odysseus. And these," he said, gesturing to the dragon, which had just crashed Wayrest's front gate to prevent anyone from escaping, "are Oliver and Olivia, son and daughter of the Great Black Dragon. Oliver is the red neck, while Olivia is the green one that matches the body. And you are?" he finished. Stormblade kept his blade raised, but said, "I am Justin Stormblade, though most call me Stormblade. And this is my steed, Charlie."

"A pleasure to meet you, as I'm sure it will be. But now you must die," Odysseus said as he ran toward Stormblade swinging his blade with precision and skill, giving his opponent only time to duck beneath the attack. Stormblade returned with a thrust, only to be dodged and kicked in the face. Oliver wrestled with Charlie while Olivia blasted a meager and shy fire into the village. As Stormblade parried two more skillfully coordinated strikes, he figured that if he could draw the two away from the village, the guards might have time to get out and help with the dragon. Odysseus thrust his blade and managed to slash Stormblade's side painfully. Stormblade stepped back and slashed at his neck to no avail, and ran back the way the opponent came. Odysseus smiled and pursued. "That's not smart, Stormblade. I suggest that you _don't_ go that way," he said as Stormblade neared a stony cliff. He stopped when he reached it and stared at his pursuers. Charlie was at his side, as Oliver and Olivia were at their master's. He pointed past Stormblade, who looked and saw, with utter shock, a giant black dragon flying right behind him. "The Great Black Dragon… but… I thought it was dead…" said Stormblade. "It was, but it was something of a… _gift_ from someone of great power," replied Odysseus.


	2. Odysseus's Defeat

The dragon stood beside its master. Odysseus laughed as he walked towards me, putting the tip of his blade at my neck. "You see, Stormblade, I don't want to kill you. It's not my desire. Allow me to explain;

When I was a child, growing up was easy. It was a great experience for me to master the blade with my sister. We dueled each other all the time, she always being better than me. My goal was to one day beat her, or better yet, best her in the art of the blade." He lowered the sword, stroking it possessively.  
"My sister and I played together for years. She was the greatest person in the world. She wasn't even my sister, blood-wise, but when I was first adopted by her family I hated it. She was the only one who supported me, who helped me back up when I fell. I loved her so much… But she was taken from me. Poor Rikke, taken by the fool known as Molag Bal!" The ground shook as he cursed the Daedric prince, and Odysseus was immediately frightened. He continued, "Rikke was bitten by those vampires. My horrible step father, he sent her away! That horrible man paid for what he had done to me…" Odysseus was now in tears.

"I did only what I could, Stormblade. I prayed to Molag Bal, and he gave me the offer of a lifetime. All I have to do to save Rikke is initiate trade. I must collect five hundred heads, and he will return my Rikke, my sister. I will NOT let a fool like YOU stop me!" Odysseus lifted his sword, and I the same, just in time to block the blow. I rolled to the left, as the four monsters in front of me came in closer. Oliver and Olivia struggled to follow behind their father, the great black dragon. I turned and rushed out of the cave, but Charlie was already aware of the situation, and lowered himself for me to mount.

The cave exploded as the black dragon flew out of its peak and into the sky. He angled himself towards Charlie and me, and shot out flames. I could not make out the words, but I knew what the dragon had said. Charlie leaped away and ran down the slope of Hollow Springs, into the grassland ahead. Odysseus had mounted the two-headed dragon, which was running very quickly. The black dragon flew ahead of Charlie and me, yelling out in Dovah. We raced towards a nearby village, seeing the guards charging with swords already drawn. Odysseus was just behind us on Oliver and Olivia, barking out foul language and tone.

I turned and leaped onto the two-headed beast, tackling Odysseus off of the pair. Charlie ran into the civilization of many guards who were now dismounting and shooting at the black dragon with their bow. Odysseus and I rolled across the grass before I jumped up. Odysseus scrambled to stand, but I kicked him down and drew my sword. Steel hit steel as Odysseus parried, and he jumped up. We danced with our swords, striking each other at any open spot we could find. Sweat was dripping down my forehead, while Odysseus effortlessly swung his blade. It was clear that he had more experience than I.

The black dragon landed in the grasses and roared at the soldiers. The beast uttered a name I could not understand before howling once more. "Yol… Toor Shul!" Flames engraved the soldiers. Charlie was now running from a pursuing two-headed Oliver and Olivia, who were leaping and nipping at his rear. Charlie jumped in place, landing on top of the dragons and biting on Oliver's neck with his flat teeth. Olivia, very shy and unconfident, hid away under their belly. Oliver struggled to get out of Charlie's grip.

Odysseus managed to cut me across the waist and shoulder. I was out of breath, but kept up the fight. My hands were growing weak, and I had to use them both to maintain grip on my sword. I slashed at Odysseus's legs, but he jumped and smashed his boots into my abdomen. I fell backwards, and my sword flew across the grassland. Odysseus dropped his sword into the grass and laughed. He kicked my stomach, and then pulled his sword out of the grass. I rolled away, but could not get up. My sword was too far. Odysseus grunted, and then laughed again. He walked up to my limp body.

The soldiers pulled out catapults, and hammered away at the black scales of the monstrous beast. It roared as the fiery rocks blasted its scales. The black dragon took flight, making sure to wipe away a dozen soldiers with his tail. The village was now empty; all the civilians were hiding inside the main fort for protection. Cavalry rushed out to join the foot soldiers, but made little affect. Charlie had practically clobbered the two-headed dragon, and Oliver had already given up. Poor Olivia was too scared to fight back.

Odysseus was now above me, raising his sword above his head. I slipped a dagger out from my belt and thrust it into Odysseus's leg, using it as a grip to pull myself up. Odysseus screamed in pain, and I let him continue after I punched him in the face. I limped to my sword and turned around. Odysseus jumped at me, but I lifted my blade just in time. I looked away as I felt impact rush into my sword. The blade grew heavy, and I dropped it. Odysseus's eyes shut closed and I dragged my sword away.

I rushed over to meet the soldiers in battle, mounting Charlie. We rode down the grasses until the black dragon took notice, and I was forced to jump away from Charlie. The fire that came forward barely missed horse and man. I sprinted down to the dragon, but its tail whipped me backwards. The soldiers helped me up, and we rushed back onto the field. The black dragon roared as a volley of spears rushed into his throat. The dragon fell out of the sky. I ran and thrust my sword into its snout, but the dragon's roar sent me flying away. My sword was still jammed into his nose. I picked up a bow from a dead body and sent arrow after arrow at the beast as I walked towards it. The dragon took to the skies again. Arrows flew from many different origins as the hit the beast at once. The dragon's torn wings gave way as the dragon fell into a heap in the dirt.

The soldiers cheered as they ran to finish the beast. I followed from behind, bow at ready. Many swords were driven into the monster until it was announced to be dead. Hurrah's came from the soldiers, and they mounted their horses to leave. I stumbled my way to the dragon, and yanked my sword out of its snout. As I turned to leave, I heard a deep voice come from the dragon's lips.

"Wait…" I paused. My sword was still in my hands, but I held it higher, as a warning. "Storm…blade." I turned to face the dragon, but something was different. The scales on the beast were slowly shrinking, revealing a pinkish skin on the inside. The scales continued to shrink, and so did the dragon. The soldiers were now alert and watched in amazement as the dragon morphed into a man. Not a man, but many. Hundreds of ghost-like apparitions appeared in the place of the beast.

In harmony, the ghostly figures spoke. "Finish him. End our doom. Let the keeper down." A wind blew the apparitions away. Murmur came up from the audience of soldiers, and Charlie was whimpering by my side. I rubbed the steed by the snout, and turned around.

Holding the horse by the reigns, we walked along the grasslands and towards the village. I heard whining in the other direction, and turned. Oliver and Olivia cried over Odysseus's body. I abandoned Charlie and walked to Odysseus and the dragon. For a few moments, I stood staring, thinking of his story. Rikke Blackmoon, step-brother of Odysseus Blackmoon. It didn't make sense. Rikke never spoke of vampirism or brothers, at least, not to me.

As I turned to go, I felt a hand grab my leg. I drew my sword and twirled. Odysseus smiled as best as he could, and spoke in a hoarse voice. "Find Rikke. Tell her… tell her I love her…" Odysseus's head fell back to the dirt, and his eyes stared into forever nothingness. I knelt beside the man, and slid his eyes closed.

"I will, Odysseus. I will."


	3. A New Stormblade

Justin Stormblade shivered as Charlie stumbled into Riverwood, a town that had grown since the Civil War. It must have had twenty buildings, half of which bore fully grown clans or families. The Peer, which was a great platform stretching over the side of the mountain, giving one a perfect view of Whiterun and the young town of Birchesshield, which had grown much faster than Riverwood and already had a mile diameter and a wall around it, glowed with the torches placed on it to allow sight.

But Justin wasn't there for scenery; he, a week after killing Odysseus, received mysterious summons from the great two-walled city of Whiterun. He reached in his pocket to take it out and read it, but realized that he must've dropped it many miles back. This didn't matter, though, since he had memorized it. It read:

"_To the highly esteemed former Imperial Legate, Justin Stormblade;_

_You've made a large name for yourself, saving Wayrest and becoming a Legate in a month. So, I've taken it upon myself to invite you to my mead-hall in Whiterun, Dreamhallow Mead-Hall for some ale, rest, food, and perhaps even a permanent stay. However, my identity should be revealed to you when you arrive, as I would not wish to spoil the surprise; however, I can say this: you know me._

_ I do sincerely hope you will join me and my fellow revelers in Dreamhallow. You may arrive at any time of day you like, as long as it's reasonable. Should you need it, I've arranged a room for you at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood._

_ Hoping you make it,_

_your anonymous summons."_

Justin tied his horse up in the stables, leaving the rest of the work to the ostler and began thinking about who could be inviting him. He just entered the inn when he felt something strange; every hair on his body stood up and his thoughts were a confused pile of jumbled, messy ideas. He obeyed the urge to look right, and when he did, he saw a hooded man with barely any distinguishable features, even as he stared at Justin, who looked away and approached Birgit, the daughter of the Blade Delphine. "Do you know that man?" he asked. "No," she replied. "He came in this morning and has been buying mead or talking to guests ever since."

This did not quell Stormblade's fear, but rather tempered it. _He's been waiting for me,_ he thought to himself.

After buying his room and retreating, Stormblade stayed awake for an hour considering the events, but eventually fell into an uneasy sleep. It did not last.

Stormblade woke to a tall silhouetted figure holding a war-hammer while standing over him. He rolled out of bed and reached for his blade when he heard an arrow shot, a grunt, and a loud _thud_. He turned around to find a cloaked figure, about 6'3'' who was holding a crossbow. "You draw much attention to yourself, Mister _Stormblade_," he said to Justin in a mocking tone and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out into the main room of the inn. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the two men. Justin got pushed into a chair and faced the man now. "Who are you? Did you send those mercenaries?" demanded Stormblade. "No, but I know who did. I also happen to know that it was your anonymous summons that did so, and that his name is Kai Wet-Pommel," replied the man. Stormblade's breath left him as he said, "But I dealt with him!" "Exactly," replied the cloaked one. "He wasn't happy about it. Now he's got a price on your head and I'm gonna have to clean up the mess. Come on," he said as he pulled Stormblade out the door and towards the stables. The cloaked man pulled Stormblade to an area with a pure white horse which seemed to give off light. A man stood next to it. "We ready to go?" he said. He was tall, about 6'4'', blonde-haired, and bulky. Obviously, he was a Nord.

"Not quite yet, Bran," said the man in a cloak. Justin grabbed his arm and forced the stranger to face him. "Who are you?" he said.

The stranger sighed and hesitated. "I suppose you deserve to know who I am." He pulled his hood back slowly. Immediately, Justin recognized this man's family and gasped. Pure icy blue eyes, an unblemished face, long blonde hair; this man was of Stormblade's kin.

"I am Alatus, son of Dunamas Stormblade and Catelyn Stormblade."


	4. Retaliation to Deadly Plots

_**Alatus Fireborn Stormblade**_

Alatus sighed as he watched his brother's shocked appearance. "Brother? I have no brother! My father's name was certainly not Dunamas!" he said with a hint of deep anger. Alatus simply looked at him and said, "I was born when you were ten and had already left with Father for the Empire. Our mother moved on when Father died." "So you're a bastard?"

Justin's face went from enraged to disbelieving. "There is not a way Mother could have…" he stopped and thought on it. "But…but…" again, his face changed. This time it was a sad acceptance with great curiosity. Alatus attempted to dismiss the subject by saying, "I believe we should be discussing how I intend to prevent your death, Justin."

"I need no advice from a bastard. I am a trueborn son of Clan Stormblade," the man said. _Man_, he was, though it seemed strange to call such an ignorant person so. Though he was ten years younger, Alatus knew he was less of a boy than Justin was. "Mother re-married, Justin. I am as much of a bastard as you are. And since _Mother_ was the one of Stormblade blood and your own father was a bastard, I am more Stormblade than you."

At this, Justin's face went red. They both knew that a bastard man (given the last name 'Free-Born' here in Skyrim) would join the clan of she who he married, rather than vice versa. But Alatus felt sympathy. Though he wasn't willing to admit it, _his_ father was a bastard, too. His sympathy was not quelled by the tears welling in his half-sibling's eyes, "Brother, forgive me. My words were harsh and my thoughts clouded. I had no right to insult you as I did."

With these words, Justin's tears went away before they fell. He smiled at the kindness his newest brother had shown him, and said, "Thank you, Alatus. My own words were harsh. But who is tending our fortress in Riverhelm? Is your father alive, and what of Mother?" It was a question Alatus could easily answer. "My father is dead and Mother is ill. I left Ser Yoren, our master-at-arms, in charge."

"Ser Yoren Shatter-Shield, you mean? That old man outlasted both our fathers?" Justin said jokingly. The sun was beginning to rise to their right, shining down one of the small villages built upon the mountain. "Aye, Brother, an old man but a resilient one. And a loyal one, too. When the Shatter-Shields revolted, he led a hundred men to quell the rebellion, all the way out to their great keep near Winterhold."

Despite the fact that Riverwood was the second closest major village to Whiterun, they were still a day's ride away, mainly due to the curving roads, defensive toll forts, and common checking of your possessions. It did not help that Justin had misjudged the distance when he first came. From a mountain, such a large city seemed only a mile away. The actual distance was ten times that, and they were riding slowly so as to plan. "Aye, I'd heard of that uprising just before the Battle of Wayward Pass. There was nothing I could do about it since I hadn't any bannermen or knights to send home, and I leaving wasn't an option."

"Now, what do you intend to do about Wet-Pommel?" Justin asked. Alatus thought for a moment and remembered his plan. "I brought some of our knights from the North. There are twenty, and Thorald Greymane has lent us men from Clan Grey-Mane to assault his so-called 'mead-hall,'" he said. Justin raised an eyebrow, saying, "It isn't a mead-hall?" Alatus let out a snort, thinking, _He truly is a green little boy._ Instead of voicing this, he said, "Why in Mundus would a general-turned-crime lord own a mead-hall? No, my brother, it is not. Its name isn't even Dreamhallow. It's a fortress near Redoran's Retreat, which he named 'The Forsaken Fortress.' He named it this out of self-pity because of his banishment from Windhelm, and from Riverhelm, which, as you know, is the hold just east of Eastmarch and the place of our sacred castle, _The Blade's End_. It'll be trouble storming the place, seeing as he has over two hundred men who are quite content to be with him.

"His battlements are well-known in the Central Lands. We must be smart about this, Justin. We've few men from the North, and Thorald could only afford to give us so many with Rahvin Stormcloak calling us to arms."

As he finished, Alatus studied his brother's face. "So how many men will we have?" he finally asked. "A hundred and thirty at best," Alatus replied. "And the enemy?" his older brother asked. "Twice that," said Alatus. "Damn it!" shouted Justin. For the first time, Bran spoke up from his black stallion. "My clan might be of service. Clan Callister has men at the ready, and my father would be eager to fight for Whiterun, if it would gain him status." Alatus thought on this for a moment, and then looked in the distance. The massive city of Whiterun was visible, even from nine miles away. The distance was dotted with minor villages and towns, and outposts. "Bran, go to him. One rider will reach Lord Callister faster than three. In four days, meet us in The Drunken Huntsman at noon. Go now," said Alatus. Brandon Callister spurred his steed and left clouds of dust behind as he rode on the trail at full speed. The Fort of Hale, home of the Callisters, was a half-day ride from there, and it would be three more before the Callisters could get an army to Whiterun.

It was then that Alatus thought of the city. It was an enormous city with a long heritage, but a now ill-suited name. Jarl Balgruuf White was the last of his clan to control Whiterun and the Central Lands before the recently formed Stormcloak Syndicate had permanently forced him out of power. It had been the turning point of the second Civil War, this time led by Ulfric's eldest son, Rahvin Stormcloak, after the victory in the Pyre, the place where the giant plain of Whiterun Hold met with an odd formation of rocks that made a natural building spot for a fort, and there Balgruuf had led his armies and a fraction of the Imperial Legion in battle against an, at the time, outnumbered Syndicate force. Alatus had personally fought in this battle. Balgruuf struck down the elderly yet strong Vignar Greymane in a battle of horse and sword, slicing his stomach and littering the ground with Greymane blood. Thorald had broken into a rage then and bounded into Balgruuf sword in a startling display of strength, knocking the horse down and Balgruuf with it. Thorald had been quick with the following duel, as Balgruuf could not match the enraged Greymane's strength and agility. The scenes flashed before his mind: Balgruuf swinging and missing a step, easily being deflected by Thorald. Greymane thrust a sword into Jarl White's gullet, and the men of the Imperial army had scattered. By taking Whiterun, the Syndicate numbers swelled to twice their size. It had cost them, however, to hold the expensive burial ceremony for the former Greymane Lord, giving the Greymane home, Snowfall, to Thorald's younger brother Jaime, who had only been thirteen at the time. It was a sad story that caused this. After Ulfric's defeat, Balgruuf had tasked the Battleborns with the job of hunting down the Greymane royal line. When the Syndicate arose, Roran Stormcloak had made safe the Greymanes in Windhelm, retook Snowfall, and left the rest to the Greymanes themselves. That had been the end of the Battleborns' power. Justin looked at Alatus and brought him from his deep thought. "We're almost to a toll fort," he said to Alatus. "Be ready."

A guard bearing the white cloak of a Greymane soldier approached. "Hold there, stranger," he said in the thick accent of Whiterun. After some thought, he seemed to recognize Alatus. "Ah, Captain Stormblade; you may pass. But who's your companion?" he said, looking at Justin. "My brother," Alatus said simply, and the two rode on as the guard backed away.

By the time they had passed the last major toll fort, it was nearing nightfall. Whiterun was only half a mile away and they could ride faster now. The city shone from where it was, a half mile away from the two Stormblades. Past the wall, there were over three hundred buildings that acted as a means of daily life for the lower class. It was much more populated than the area past the second wall, which made up the homes of a mere hundred nobles. It was an enormous city with a long history and a rich past, being the pinnacle of the Central civilization in Skyrim, and was warm enough to house even the most sensitive of Cyrodiil. Nonetheless, Skyrim was Skyrim and the winters brought cold snows.

"Who shall ascend to the throne at Blade's End, brother?" Justin asked him. "Justin, it shall obviously be you. Our mother was married to your father when you were born. But we still have places like _Storm's Shield _or _Banner's Top_ for me and our cousins to rule over. And are we forgetting our many villages and cities to give to wards? Riverhelm is a vast hold, Justin," Alatus replied. Of course, compared to the whole of Tamriel, it was a mere small piece of the puzzle.

After that, they rode on in complete silence as the city of Whiterun drew closer and closer. In a week at most, they would be battling for it, and Alatus knew of every sinister plot that was unfolding, and knew only he could stop them or see them through.


	5. War in the Making

_**Hirad Stormcloak**_

Hirad sighed as the snows fell. _Pale Pass is a dreadful place_, he thought to himself. It was almost as cold, if not more, than the Northern holds. _But my input matters not to the _ever-so glorious _High King Roran Stormcloak the Warlike, and who could forget the Lord Marshal of the Syndicate, Rahvin Stormcloak?_ He chuckled to himself, and looked at his brothers. Twins, they were, and two halves of the same one: both were warlike and cunning in their own ways; Roran was the stronger of the two, and was the greatest fighter, whilst Rahvin was an excellent tactician and the driving force behind many of the battles Roran had fought. But Hirad was left out in this way; he was a year younger, slightly smaller, and, unbeknownst to his brothers, the smartest damn one in the family. This he knew because he had foreseen every single battle in the war and known the outcome of all of them, except the victory at the Pyre. That was an unpredictable move by his brothers, and he commended them for it; but that was the single exception in the second civil war. He had expected the Imperials to be taken by surprise from he and his brothers, as no living person but Ulfric and Galmar had known of their existence, for their mother had died of Frostbite when she attempted to ride to Riverhelm for aid. Unfortunately, no aid could even have come; both Stormblade boys were away and Lady Catelyn Stormblade was sickly and could not risk war.

The long lines of knights and freeriders behind the Stormcloak brothers were impressive, even to Hirad; they numbered over eighty thousand, three thousand more than Hirad had expected, and more were still coming. Hopefully, by the time they set out to Cyrodiil, they'd have a hundred thousand men. Even with that enormous number, the war against the Empire and Dominion would be hard, after the initial battles Hirad predicted; no doubt Rahvin would take advantage of the Dominion already attacking the Empire, and he'd destroy three Aldmeri fortresses, chasing the main host across the province and feeding off its supplies, bleeding its men from it. That was when the Empire would most likely step in and clash with Nordic forces, winning a few skirmishes before being smacked by a frontal assault from Roran. Then the Dominion would bring another host in to clash with the main Nord body, winning a major battle at Bruma, then being pushed back by Rahvin. Hirad had yet to predict events after this, but he was certain the battles he had already foreseen would come to pass.

Roran gestured for the lines to stop. "Here," he said. "Set up camp here." Hirad looked around. The snows were still falling, but gingerly; it felt like a kiss from a wisp mother, which Hirad had experienced. He had ways with nature.

When most of the camp had been set up near the end of the day, Hirad entered the war tent, where his brothers were arguing. "When we reach the end of the pass, we should split into two forces, fifty thousand each," said Roran. His brother laughed. "Roran, we can agree that we'll most likely have one hundred thousand men, but splitting up? We should chase those elfish milk-drinkers across the province and obliterate their strongholds. Then we would establish ourselves in Chorol and hold it against the Imperials," said Rahvin. They turned around when they noticed Hirad had entered. "Brother! Come and sit, we were just planning our first moves on Cyrodiil," Roran told him cheerily. Despite the fact that his brothers had given him little credit for his intelligence, they had been kind to him and shown him cheeriness. "Thank you, Roran," Hirad said to him as he sat. Rahvin handed him a bottle of ale and continued. "After that, we could wait for support from Hammerfell, seeing as we swore an oath to fight this war under the ancient Ebonheart laws."

Hirad spoke up. "You can expect support from Hammerfell, but only three months after you've taken and garrisoned Chorol. By that time, the Dominion would have brought in a host of eighty thousand, and the Imperials would have regrouped. But I doubt moving to Chorol would be a good idea. The Imperials will attack you from the North and the Dominion from the West. Before they can, with draw to Southeastern regions and let the two collide with one another, and then send forty thousand to finish off the remaining Imperial forces," he finished. Rahvin thought on what his younger brother had said, and then nodded. "It is a sound strategy, but if it fails?" Rahvin asked. Hirad had expected this, and had an answer from his calculations. "By the time the Imperials have the 5th Legion coming for you with sixty thousand men, Hammerfell will have a host of thirty thousand to take the Imperial City, forcing them to give our new Ebonheart Pact military access and…." Hirad thought on it a moment, then said, "Most likely High Rock will secede and join us."

His brothers both thought pensively. Rahvin was the first to respond. "And the war in Cyrodiil will be done," he said. Hirad nodded, and said, "Aye, but the overall war is going to continue." At this, Roran spoke up. "We've planned our campaign, now let us leave this infernal map and drink some ale, eh?" he said with a laugh. The meeting was concluded, but Hirad stayed behind. He had deep worry for their homeland, which was controlled only by their unmarried sister, who was only 19 years old. Who would protect Skyrim, which was conflicting with itself, ravaged by warring crime-lords and small factions? "Thinking for another day," he said to himself as he stood and exited into the snowy night. Hard times were to come, and world-ending times if a Dragonborn did not arise from the shadows and no man in the world would stop this shadow without a hero of purest blood, of immortal soul. Not a man in the world.


	6. Flatterers and Fools

_**Lady Erienne Stormcloak**_

Erienne rubbed her arms. It had been a hard winter, and sitting on that damn stone throne hadn't improved her mood. The sun was just rising over the walls of the enormous city of Windhelm, and the air was cooler than her magic resistance lessons when she had to cover resistance to frost. Jory, captain of her guard, approached from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. "My lady, another suitor has come seeking your hand," he said gently.

Lady Erienne sighed; all month these so-called 'suitors' had been gathering all around her, flatterers and fools who sought her power and not truly her love. They may have found her attractive, but she'd sooner slit her own throat than marry one of them. "Very well, Jory. Bring me to him," she said with a sigh.

_Dear Talos,_ she thought as she witnessed the man sitting in the garden for her. He held a bouquet of flowers and a dazzling smile, but he was just another ass in robes seeking her hand and her land. Despite this, she maintained her courtesy and smiled, sitting next to him. He lifted her hand and kissed it lightly. "So you are Lady Erienne? All the songs and stories in the land could not truly describe your beauty," he said to her. It was all she could do to keep herself from gagging. "Thank you. You are too kind," she said in reply. "No, what I say is still an understatement. Your face is smooth and wonderful, without any blemish. You are the most beautiful woman I've laid eyes upon," he said, eyes widening in a stupid exaggeration of wonder. "I am Lord Jackaltin Free-Winter, and I must say your beauty is unmatched!" he said. She smiled, putting a polite mask of fake emotion on to hide her feelings. "You flatter me, young lord. I suppose you wish to propose a marriage?" she asked him in a sweet, high voice. His eyes widened in a sickening fashion that feigned surprise. "But of course! Nothing in this world would please me more!" he said. _Except to kill my brothers and become king of Skyrim after the fact,_ she thought in a disgusted fashion. She stood. "Then you are not in luck, my lord," she said with a hidden smile. "I am afraid I am not looking for a suitor at the moment."

His reaction was something she wished she could capture forever; he went bright red and he stood. "I came a hundred miles from Dunmeth Keep to be turned down by you? This is an _outrage_!" he shouted, redder than a tomato. "The only outrage," Erienne replied. "Is that you expect me to fall for you, an ass in robes who would like nothing more than to slit my throat after giving you a son and an inheritance. I expect you to be gone by evenfall, my lordling."

Jory stood waiting for her, frowning. "What?" she asked with a sly smile. Jory stared, saying, "You know how important it is for you to be married, my lady." She laughed. "And then? Windhelm would swear itself to that fraud if my brothers died. I will not see that happen." Jory sighed and began to walk her to the Palace of Kings to sit upon a cold stone throne and listen to liars and flatterers complain about their neighbor's cows ramming the side of their house or simply 'mooing' too loud. It was tedious work, at best. But in the end, it gave her plentiful and quick sleep in the nights.

When the two arrived in the keep, Lord Goodkin approached bearing a letter. _This is odd_, Erienne thought as he neared her. _The Goodkins raised banners and left for Pale Pass shortly after my brothers did._ "My lady, Lord Rahvin has sent you a letter," he said in the liquid accent of the Northeast folk. "He bears good news about a new suitor who you should find most interesting."

Erienne sighed, taking it and breaking the seal (which, as always, bore a roaring bear that represented the Stormcloaks of Windhelm), and read:

"_My Dear Sister Erienne,_

_ I believe I've found you a new suitor. He has an interesting character and has achieved many feats. _My _only problem with him is that he served the Imperials until near the very end. However, he has slain Odysseus, master of the hydra, and marches upon Kai Wet-Pommel's castle as we speak. I believe that he may unite the two largest houses of the North. Until I confirm his interest in you, I'd like you to know that we are safe and love you._

_Until we write again,_

_ Lord Rahvin II Stormcloak"_

Lady Erienne thought on this 'Justin' fellow. He sounded strong enough, but he was a bloody mud-sucking _Imperial_ supporter. Jory gasped. "Justin _Stormblade_? That man is legendary! Surely you would find him suitable, milady?" he said. She thought, and said, "We shall have to see, Jory. We shall see."

With that, Enny strode away and sat upon the cold stone just as her first visitor appeared. _Another day another pain in the ass_, she thought, and chuckled._ More like a hundred in my case._


	7. Battle of the Forsaken Fortress

_**Justin II Stormblade**_

"The armies are yours, my lord," said Captain Yorlin Whitemane as the men finished getting to the positions. Alatus was a mile away leading twenty men to assault the rear of the fort. Already, catapults were laying siege to the strong walls of The Forsaken Fortress with fiery balls of stone.

"Very well, Yorlin. Tell them to march forward. We'll split up into two forces of sixty men each," Justin said in reply to the captain of the city of Whiterun's forces. "I want you to lead one half and raise the ladders on their walls while Alatus and I regroup on the East Wall and fire on the bulk of their forces, giving you a distraction," Justin finished. Whitemane nodded and jogged away. From the hill, he could see men rushing to guard the rear walls of the fort. That was the source of his plan; the aurochs were untamed fools who had no idea that Justin intended to attack.

A league away, two hundred Callister men (only a tenth of House Callister's overall armies) marched to the front gate, pounding along the road on their famous Great Quarter horses. When they saw this, Wet-Pommel's men panicked and stumbled, attempting to get to their ballistae and archer posts. Another advantage Justin had; this would make the first attempt to breach the gate into the last one.

Justin mounted his steed Charlie and rode to his hundred and twenty men, now in the lines, and called for a march. The noon breeze lifted their spirits, and they began to march. When the army reached the bottom of the hill, they split into two forces. Justin went to the right, where his brother rode with fifteen cavalry to regroup with him and scale the East Wall. The ladders were raised by the time the two met and began to dismount. Alatus removed his helm and grinned. "All is well, my brother. Let's scale a wall," Alatus said.

And so they did, quickly climbing up one hundred feet. Only five men remained to deter them, and they had only managed to push down two of the ten ladders. Alatus quickly killed one with a fire-bolt and sliced another down. Justin kicked one off the wall, sliced one's neck, and decapitated the last. The other men quickly climbed the ladders and jumped on the wall. It had taken three weeks after Bran returned with Callister riders to form a plan and assemble their men. After that, it had taken another three days to march them sixteen miles to the fort they were now assaulting.

Justin was brought out of his thoughts by Alatus, who asked for orders. "Take thirty men and attack the mercenaries fighting Bran from the south. I'll bring the other fifty and bring down the bulk of the force. Then we'll open the gate and march on Wet-Pommel's keep," Justin said. The orders were quickly carried out. Justin waited until his brother had thirty men going around the southeast corner and assembled fifty men into two lines and marched them north, where the mercenaries were just getting to their stations. His men ran forth and clashed with the sell-swords in a bloody and savage massacre from the rear. Alatus was quicker and had fewer men, so he had arrived first and already created a diversion. The poor mercenaries were confused and ill-trained, killing each other in panic and falling off the wall to die below in a scream of pain and agony.

Alatus was a storm and a sight to behold. He slaughtered the thugs before they could react, his sword like lightning and thunder. He would slash, but only seconds later would Wet-Pommel's men realize they had been hit, and then they would scream and either die or fall to the ground in agony to be killed by some Whiterun knight or one of Yorlin's men, who had managed to scale the wall. Alatus blazed through the bandits with savage fury, taking them down blow by blow. Justin was only half as good, if even that. He sliced down one in three seconds, stabbing another opponent in the face in four. Blood dirtied his face by the time the idiot mercenaries retreated and entered the keep, barring it shut.

Bran's horsemen brought a ram through to breach the keep and bring the enemy to his knees. However, most of the men were tired; it'd been a hot day and the warm, heavy chain and leather armoring hadn't helped in the slightest but to protect the soft flesh beneath. The sun was falling and the time to rest had come. Bran raised the commander's tent with four cots inside (one for himself, Justin, Alatus, and Yorlin.)

Justin found himself weary, mainly due to the heat and discomfort of the day. He let out a heavy sigh as he removed his armor and dropped onto his cot, alone in the commander's tent. _How weak can I be? I did so much less work than Alatus, yet he wrestles and parties with our men outside, enjoying the young night._ He cursed himself for being so negative and envious of his brother. _Bah, such thought is for tomorrow. I must sleep so that I may be ready._

However, sleep did not come right away, for it was interrupted by a courier. "M'lord, Ralof Wood and Hodor River send their greetings and promise of aid," the young Nord said. He handed Justin a letter. It said that three hundred knights were coming from Riverwood from House Wood (led by Ralof) and House River (led by Hodor, or Hod, husband of Gerdur Wood) and should be with him in a week. "Tell them House Stormblade is grateful and looks forward to this aid," Justin told the young blond man. The youth nodded and ran away into the night. He slipped into an invisible road called the Shadow Path, which was the network of roads and caves that allowed couriers to travel undeterred.

Justin smiled. It was good that three hundred knights and bannermen were coming to his aid; that would ease the situation. But he would tell his brother, Bran, and Captain Yorlin tomorrow. For now he had to rest, and hope that events would go smoothly.

As he drifted into a sleep, he faintly heard his brother saying the words that had revealed his identity. _I am Alatus Stormblade, son of Dunamas and Catelyn Stormblade…_


End file.
